


sweet like summer

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dom Clarke, F/F, Feelings, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Miscommunication, Praise Kink, Subdrop, Subspace, subby Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7971646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa try to negotiate kinks. It goes very poorly, at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet like summer

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves Lexa agreeing to a situation she doesn't really want to do, because she thinks it's what Clarke wants. I'm not sure what kind of trigger warning that is, but I don't want to trigger anyone. 
> 
> also a lot of this came from reshopgoufa on tumblr and another anon, the real mvps here <3

Clarke waits until Lexa is pleased in the big eyed soft way she is just after particularly loving sex, where they move gently and carefully against each other, reverent touches and long open mouthed kisses and coming with a quiet, swallowed gasp, their foreheads pressed together. She makes the tea Lexa likes and they sit in the big fluffy matching robes her mother bought them for a housewarming gift, a generic gift that rankled Clarke at first, because it showed Abby knew nothing of her and less about Lexa, but Lexa’s steadfast determination not to let them go to waste has softened her. And, if nothing else, her mother dropped quite a bit of money on them, monogrammed and plush thick fabric. 

They sit on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, mugs gently steaming, and Lexa nudges their feet together, sinking lower. Clarke sometimes flicks through a book or a magazine, but Lexa’s eyes go half-closed and she tips her head back against the armrest and melts, completely relaxed. 

“I printed something out,” Clarke says, tentative, while the news rumbles quietly in the background. “You wanna look?”

“‘Bout what,” Lexa mumbles, breathing against the tea to make the steam rise against her face. 

“Sex,” Clarke says. Lexa blinks at her, slightly more present. 

“Oh?”

Clarke reaches over, setting her cup down and picking up the printouts. “Yeah.” It’s a checklist, kinks she likes and things she’s thought about and other stuff she’s never even considered until she went looking. She passes it to Lexa and Lexa looks at it. Her breathing picks up, very slightly, and her eyes dilate as she reads. 

“Oh,” she says again, different. Less questioning, more interested. 

“Do you think you might…” Clarke trails off. She frowns, faintly. “I mean, just stuff we might want to try. 

Lexa looks at the printout, then at Clarke, then back down. “Give me a few days?” she asks. “I want to…”

“Of course,” Clarke assures her. “Of course.”

++

Lexa waits for the weekend before she snuggles up to Clarke on the couch again. She’s been off, just a little. Not distant, not quite, but reserved in a way she hasn’t been for a while. “I want to,” she says, soft, and Clarke knows what she means without having to ask. Her heart beats quick.

“Yeah?” she asks, trying not to sound eager. “You know I--I just want you.”

“I want,” Lexa says, slow. “I want...”

Clarke kisses her, all tongue and teeth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lexa breathes. She strips her shirt off, kicks off her pajama pants, and stands in front of Clarke, her eyes cast down. 

“Kneel,” Clarke half-asks, half-orders, and Lexa hesitates before bending, graceful. She rests her forehead on the couch and breathes quick, her chest rising and falling. Clarke skims her fingers across Lexa’s jaw, cradling. “Look at me,” she orders, and Lexa meets her eyes for just a second before dropping them. “Safeword? You say it and we stop, no questions asked until later.”

Lexa rolls her shoulders. “I don’t--” she swallows. 

“How about ‘stop’,” Clarke suggests, “for tonight.”

Lexa nods, jerky. “Okay.”

Clarke winds her fingers through Lexa’s hair, careful, and tugs once, gentle, then again, a hard yank. Lexa flinches, then tips her head to the side, yielding. “Clarke,” she says, quiet, and Clarke kisses her again, licking across the roof of Lexa’s mouth, the inside of her teeth. Lexa shudders. 

“I thought,” Clarke says, tugging on Lexa’s bottom lip. She knows she’s blushing. “Maybe--I could--.” She takes a deep breath. “I want to spank you.”

Lexa is still for a long moment. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay.” She crawls into Clarke’s lap, a little awkward, before settling, her cheek against the cushion, her hips pressed to Clarke’s thighs. Clarke slides a finger under the elastic of her underwear, the boyshorts Lexa prefers for sleep, and rubs at Lexa’s ass. She pulls the boyshorts down, and Lexa shivers when air slides across her bare skin. 

Clarke rests a palm against the swell of her ass. “Yeah?” Lexa nods. The first hit is careful, tentative, no harder than when she’s slapped Lexa playfully in the mornings or after dinner, and Lexa sucks in a breath, tense, before relaxing again. She lifts her hips up and Clarke’s next hit is harder; the third leaves a red mark.

“Okay?” Clarke asks, her voice high and trembly. She feels heady, wet already, her lip between her teeth to keep herself in check.

Lexa casts a quick look at her face. “I--yes.” She pauses, and Clarke waits. “Do you--?”

“Very much,” Clarke assures her. “You’re so hot like this.” She rubs at the mark, welting slightly already. “I love you so much. You make me so happy.”

Lexa nods into the cushion, her eyes falling shut. “Okay. Yeah. For you.” Clarke goes slow, letting Lexa relax after every strike, rubbing soothing circles into the small of Lexa’s back. By the time her hand is red and angry and stinging Lexa’s skin is a map of pink and red clouds, darker in the center and fading outward, from her ass down her thighs. Clarke slips her facedown onto the couch and crawls atop of her, pausing to shuck her shirt and her pants, standing only for a few rushed seconds before setting against Lexa’s hips, naked, sliding down to her thighs. She starts a grind.

“Good?” Lexa asks, hesitant.

“Yeah,” Clarke assures her, kissing her spine. “Really, really good.” She’s so turned on her vision is hazy, looking at the marks her hand has left, pressing a finger to the darkest and most raised welt. “I’m gonna come, okay? And then I’ll take care of you.”

Lexa is quiet for a second, rolling her head against the rough cushion. “Yeah. I want---I want you to feel good.”

“I feel amazing,” Clarke breathes, her hips picking up pace. She bends her back, licking at Lexa’s tattoo until her muscles lock up and she shudders, coming in a wet rush against the back of Lexa’s knee. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, soft while Clarke breathes wet against her skin and shivers, pulsing. “I love you.”

“Baby,” she murmurs, pleased, nipping at the back of Lexa’s neck. She runs her nails up Lexa’s inner thighs and dip inside her. She freezes. “Baby?”

Lexa lifts her hips again. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

Clarke frowns. “But--you---” She thrusts in a finger, testing, and Lexa locks up under her before forcibly relaxing.

“I can take it,” Lexa says. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her nostrils flared; Clarke can feel her pulse rabbiting too quick. When Clarke touches the small of her back she flinches, minute.

“You--” Clarke’s hand flies away like she’s been burned. She sits up and scoots back, horrified. “You--”

Lexa looks back over her shoulder. “Do you want to--some more? I can--” She lifts her hips again, offering.

Clarke retreats until her back hits the armrest. “Lexa--tell me you--are you tired, Lex? Did you,” she gropes desperately for an excuse, pleading. “Did you work too hard this week?”

Lexa shakes her head, quick. “No, I’m fine. You can--some more, if you want.”

Clarke stares at her. “You didn’t like it,” she says, slow. Lexa opens her mouth and Clarke raises a hand to cover her mouth, feeling shaky in the worst way. “Why didn’t you--?”

“Wanna be good for you,” Lexa says, her eyes sliding away. “I love you.” Clarke’s orgasm is still shining on the back of her thigh, and Clarke looks at the faint bruising starting to rise on her skin. Her stomach rolls violently. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” she manages, and rushes for the bathroom, making it just in time, kneeling in front of the toilet. Lexa comes in after just a minute, concerned.

“Clarke?” She touches Clarke’s shoulder and Clarke flinches away. Lexa’s voice rises, concerned. “Clarke?”

Clarke cracks her eyes open but can only meet Lexa’s gaze for a second before her stomach pitches again and she takes a deep breath, fighting down the nausea. She feels clammy, cold. A faint aftershock pulses through her, her heartbeat strong in her center, thumping, and she shivers violently, breaking out in a cold sweat. Her body is warm, humming, satisfied, and she hates herself. “I don’t feel good,” she says in a tiny voice.

Lexa is crouched beside her, brow furrowed. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Clarke thinks about their bed, where that morning she’d slipped off the mattress, careful not to wake Lexa, who was sleeping soft and curled up, her nose snuffling against the pillow, to print out the checklist, feeling heady and excited. She retches weakly into the toilet and Lexa moves to hold her hair back. Clarke flinches away, curling up against the edge of the bathtub. “I need a shower, I think,” she says. “Can you--I need a little time.”

Lexa’s face creases, unhappy, but she backs away. Her voice is small and unsure. “After?”

Clarke wants grabs her wrist, but she clenches her fists instead. She tries to make her voice reassuring. “Yes. I just need a minute.”

She stands under the water, hot and steaming, and then sits at the bottom of the tub, her knees abruptly weak, shaking slightly as she tries to pull herself together and figure out what happened.

She dresses in Lexa’s big soft sleep shirt, hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and the smell of Lexa’s clothes on her skin makes her feel sick again even as she presses her nose into the collar, breathing deep. She rinses her mouth with Lexa’s sharp mint mouthwash and grips the edge of the counter, looking at herself in the mirror. “Buck up Griffin,” she mutters, and steels herself.

The door squeaks when it opens and Lexa scrambles up from where she’d been sitting against the hall wall, wrapped in Clarke’s robe. She searches Clarke’s face and reaches out a hand, hesitating in the space between them. “Clarke?” She sounds miserable, and begging, and Clarke links their fingers, drawing Lexa into a hug. Lexa exhales, shaky, and clutches her close. “What did I do?” She asks, pleading. “I can fix it, I promise.”

Clarke takes a steadying breath. “Let’s sit?”

Lexa nods, and tugs her to the couch. She nudges Clarke down and goes into the kitchen, returning with fresh tea. “I made that one you like, with the blueberries.” Lexa hates fruit tea, and Clarke feels it again, the sharp stab of guilt.

“Sit?” Clarke asks, and Lexa slides across from her, like she’s not sure she’s welcome. She’s all drawn up, her face scrunched and tense. Clarke wants to sleep, come at this more rational, but she thinks about Lexa huddled across the mattress, too afraid and confused to reach out, her skin bruising, and knows she can’t let it lie for a night.

“I’m okay,” Lexa is saying, earnest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Clarke says firmly. She sips carefully at her tea, hot and calming, and it’s enough to help her steady a little. “Lexa, did you like that?”

Lexa’s brow creases again. “It’s fine. If you tell me--I can do better, next time.”

Clarke catches her hand and squeezes, rubbing at Lexa’s knuckles. “That,” she says, quiet and fervent, “can _never_ happen again.”

Lexa flinches, drawing away. She props her chin on her knees, curled into a tiny ball. “Sorry,” she says, miserable. 

“No, I’m sorry.” 

Lexa blinks. “Why?”

Clarke plays with the string of the teabag. “I know you, right?”

Lexa nods. “You know me better than anyone,” she says, almost shy. “You know every part of me.”

“I know when you’re not--” Clarke fumbles for the right phrasing, “aroused.”

“Yeah,” Lexa agrees. She frowns. “But--you--”

“When we have sex,” Clarke says, slow, “it’s. It’s about _us_. Doing something that doesn’t make you feel good, it doesn’t make me feel good.”

Lexa frowns harder. “You liked it,” she says, mulish. “You came.”

“I did,” Clarke admits, “and then I threw up. I still feel--it feels icky, Lex. I feel like I assaulted you.”

Lexa scoots across the couch, stricken. “No,” she denies, gripping Clarke’s shoulder. “You could never.”

Clarke cuts her a look. “Don’t start that shit with me. We both know better.”

“No,” Lexa insists. “I consented. I do consent.”

“If I,” Clarke posits, “agreed to do something during sex that you knew I didn’t want to do, knew would make me feel bad and hurt, would you do it?”

“Never,” Lexa says, swift and sure. Clarke stares and her, pointed, but Lexa just blinks, clearly confused. Then her expression clears. “Clarke,” she says, taking her hand. “It’s okay. I want you to feel good.” She tries for a grin, a shadow of her usual cocky surety. “I’m hardier than I look.”

Clarke retreats, dropping Lexa’s hand. “It’s my fault,” she says, rubbing between her eyebrows with a knuckle. “I never should have.” She stops for a deep breath. “I pressured you.” She thinks about other thing son the list and has to fight down another clench of cold shivers. “I could have--Jesus _Christ_ , Lexa.” 

“I don’t,” Lexa falters, “I don’t understand. Tell me how to fix this.”

Clarke reaches a hand out. “C’mere?” Lexa falls into her, relieved. She nuzzles under Clarke’s jaw and kisses her shoulder, anxious. She mumbles something, Clarke’s name, maybe. “Remember when I sat on your face?” Lexa nods against her chest. “And you came from just that? I didn’t even touch you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Lexa is quiet for a moment. “Because,” she says, shy. “I love you. You’re so beautiful. I want to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too.” Clarke runs her fingers through Lexa’s hair, rubs behind her ear the way Lexa likes. “Earlier--if you did something that made me feel bad--” She sighs. “Lexa, I want to make you feel good. If you’re not feeling good, I don’t feel good.” They breathe together, matching easily, and Lexa noses at her throat, thoughtful. 

“Okay,” she says. “I understand.”

“Do you? Because this, what just happened, it can never happen again. I’ll never forgive myself for this.”

Lexa clutches at her. “It’s not your fault.” Clarke makes a frustrated noise. “Not just your fault. My fault, for not telling you.”

“My fault,” Clarke says, unbearably guilty, “I should always notice when you’re unhappy.”

“I’ll tell you,” Lexa promises. “Always. I get it.”

 

“When I get wet for you,” Clarke says, later, when they’re in bed, Lexa spooning her and rubbing gentle touches against her hips, her belly, kissing her temple lovingly, “it’s because I know you’re getting wet too. You feeling good makes me feel good.”

“I know,” Lexa says, “I’m sorry.”

Clarke breathes, trembling. Lexa folds herself over Clarke, protective and reassuring. “Me too.”

++

They tiptoe around each other, in the morning, and Lexa avoids touching her until Clarke catches her by the wrist, gentle, and kisses her goodbye. Lexa reels her back and kisses her again, relieved. “I love you,” she says. “I’ll see you after work? You’re off today, right?”

“Yes,” Clarke assures her. “I’ll cook?”

“Please,” Lexa says with a straight face, “no.”

It startles a quick laugh out of Clarke, something easing in both of them. “I’ll order out.”

Lexa grins at her, bright. “Good.” They kiss again, and Clarke stands in the doorway to wave goodbye as Lexa slips into the elevator.

Clarke tries to paint a little, tries to read. She’s sitting in front of the television with a sandwich for a late lunch when she sees the printout cast aside on the dining table. She shreds it, furious, and crawls under the covers, huddling on Lexa’s side of the bed.

 

“Napping?” Lexa asks absently, coming home and changing out of her professional attire into soft sweats and a tank. She stretches, her back cracking. “I didn’t see any firefighters outside, so I know you didn’t cook.” Clarke doesn’t move, turned away. “Clarke?”

“I don’t feel well,” Clarke says, flat. She feels the mattress dip, Lexa’s hand against her forehead. She swallows, and knows she looks like she’s been crying. Lexa hesitates. 

“Do you want to be alone?”

Clarke reaches out, wordless, and Lexa slides under the sheets, gathering Clarke close and rolling over to pin her weight against Clarke. Clarke makes a relieved noise, settling, and Lexa presses their cheeks together, running soothing hands up and down Clarke’s sides until she falls asleep.

 

She sleeps too late, squinting in confusion at the clock. “The alarm?” she mumbles, questioning.

Lexa sits next to her and tucks Clarke’s hair out of her face, behind her ear. “I called you in.” She rubs Clarke’s back in small circles. “I can call me in too, if you want?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I know you’re settling that case today.”

“You’re more important,” Lexa says, firm.

“I’m going to go to the art store,” Clarke says. “Settle the case and come home early?”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Lexa says. She kisses Clarke’s temple. “Sleep in a little, okay?”

 

Clarke wakes up because someone is banging on their door, her phone buzzing on the nightstand. She slaps at it and hauls herself upright, groaning. She staggers out and wrenches the door open, murder on her mind. “ _What_.”

“Christ,” Anya says. “I thought Lexa was shitting me, but you do look terrible.”

Clarke rubs her forehead. “Anya, please--”

“We’re going to the art store.” Anya pulls a face. “Listen, no one is happy about this, but Lexa is calling in a favor and she made the sad Lexa face and I can’t handle one more text about--” she affects a high pitched voice, “Clarke, Clarke, Clarke.”

Clarke stares at her. “I need a shower.”

Anya shoves past her into the apartment. “Good, I need coffee.”

 

Lexa is waiting when she gets home. “Have fun today?”

Clarke drops a paper bag on the table. “Anya bought knitting needles, keep an eye on the news for oddly themed craft murders.” She slips into Lexa’s lap and leans their foreheads together.

“Anya would never leave evidence,” Lexa says, “we’ve talked about it.”

“Disturbing tales from the Woods clan,” Clarke says, and when Lexa tilts her head up they kiss, soft. “I don’t think I can,” Clarke admits, “not yet.”

“Of course,” Lexa says, gentle, and they make out, lazy and unhurried, until Lexa’s hands hover over her chest. She pouts, prettily, and Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“Far be it from me to withhold your favorite activity,” she says, dry, but nods when Lexa hesitates, and Lexa keeps her hands over her bra, sliding over her breasts, cupping, making happy pleased noises. 

 

They go out to dinner, pressed into a booth at Clarke’s favorite diner, Lexa’s arm around her shoulder even though it means Lexa has to eat with her left hand, clumsy, and sleep snuggled close, chests rising and falling in tandem.

++

It’s another week before they have sex, and Lexa takes charge without Clarke having to ask, guiding their pace and assuring Clarke with moans and eager noises, murmuring _yes, more, please, Clarke_ and Clarke comes with Lexa’s fingers crooked inside her and her voice whispering love in her ear. 

++

A month later and they’re back to normal, Clarke pushing Lexa inside the apartment after watching her take apart opposing counsel in a particularly vicious diatribe of intricate law and thinly veiled barbs. “Sit on the couch,” Clarke growls, “I want to ride you until you can’t remember your fucking name.”

Lexa’s knees buckle so fast she almost misses the couch, pitching herself backwards ungainly to avoid collapsing on the floor. Clarke straddles her, stripping off her jacket and hauling Lexa’s top off. She dips her head, biting across Lexa’s chest and sucking along her pulse points, and Lexa dissolves under her, begging in the cant of her hips and yielding way she tilts her head back for Clarke to bite dark angry bruises in the hollow of her throat. 

 

They’re in a sleepy huddle, sated, when Lexa shifts under her. Clarke hums, but Lexa shifts again and she sits up, still in Lexa’s lap. “Lex?”

Lexa won’t look at her, faintly pink. “I--it’s not that I didn’t like it.”

“This just now? Babe, you came so hard I think we might need a new couch, I know you liked it.”

Lexa’s look glazes over, a very fond recent memory. She shakes herself back into the present. “No. The--when you spanked me.” Clarke goes still. Lexa takes her hand, squeezing reassuringly. “At first.” She swallows, and Clarke tilts her chin up.

“Kiss me?”

Lexa nods, and they kiss, Clarke keeping her mouth gentle and pliant, letting Lexa direct the pace, the pressure. “At first,” Lexa says, relaxed again. “I felt--like my head went somewhere. I wasn’t worried about work, and my knee didn’t hurt--”

“I knew your knee has been bothering you,” Clarke interrupts, indignant. “No running for three days, I _mean_ it this time.”

“Clarke,” Lexa says mildly.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Go on.”

“I got scared.” Lexa bites her lip. “I pulled myself up, and then I felt--panicked, I guess? I looked it up. It’s… normal.” She’s quiet for a few seconds, swallowing. “But I. It felt good.” She drops her eyes, then looks up through her lashes. “It felt really good.”

Clarke frowns. “I don’t know, Lexa. I still--” she has nightmares, sometimes, of the way Lexa flinched when she touched her, the way Lexa tried to make herself hurt because she thought it was what Clarke wanted.

“I know. I just wanted you to know.” Lexa is still looking away. 

“You want to try again,” Clarke says, slow, watching Lexa carefully. Lexa swallows, hard. Her pupils dilate, the black swallowing the color. “How long?”

“A while,” Lexa says on an exhale, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s just--I’m scared.”

“Friday,” Clarke suggests, tentative. “But. Lexa, _seriously_.”

“As soon as I feel bad,” Lexa assures her, “I know. I promise.”

++

They eat and Clarke’s leg jiggles until it slaps the underside of the table and Lexa laughs at her, her smile tinged with nerves. Clarke lights candles, the ones Lexa likes the best, and makes the bed with fresh sheets, soft and worn. She sits cross legged on the mattress and pats the bed beside her. “Let’s sit.”

Lexa is a little hesitant when she crawls up, and her jaw is tight. They’re both in pajamas, pants and tank tops, and Clarke draws Lexa’s foot into her lap, massaging until Lexa moans, pleased. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“I know,” Clarke says, soft. “I won’t make that mistake again. I know my girl, don’t I?”

Lexa shivers. “Yeah,” she says. Her throat works. “Your girl.”

Clarke watches her, intent. She switches to Lexa’s other foot. “My girl,” she murmurs, lowering her tone. Lexa shivers again. “My good girl. My best girl.”

The tension bleeds from Lexa’s spine. “Yeah,” she says again, almost detached. Clarke kisses her, calculated aggressiveness as Lexa goes--not passive, but definitely letting Clarke take charge. Clarke tugs Lexa’s hair, drags her teeth across Lexa’s skin, presses her nails sharply into Lexa’s back. Lexa keens, high pitched and wanting, and shoves herself closer.

“So good,” Clarke continues, “so pretty. Sexy, and smart too. Can’t imagine my life without you, wouldn’t want to. When I come home and see you, it’s like the first big breath after jumping in the pool. Like I don’t get as much oxygen when you’re not with me.”

Lexa inches closer and leans her head on Clarke’s shoulder, wide eyed. “Clarke,” she mumbles. She mouths at Clarke’s skin, her collarbone, but it’s absent, devoid of her usual focus, like she just wants to taste Clarke, feel her skin against her teeth. 

“You make me feel so good,” Clarke says, keeping her voice easy and gentle and gravelly, every syllable dripping with praise. “No one has ever made me feel so good, come so hard. I love your mouth, your lips. Your fingers; I can get wet just watching you use a fork or write a grocery list, when they’re inside me I think about how long they are, how slender, how your knuckles drag against me just right.”

Lexa pitches against Clarke’s chest, boneless; Clarke catches her and eases her down onto her back. She lies half on the bed, half propped over Lexa, and kisses her carefully under her jaw. She traces her nails across Lexa’s hipbones. “Sometimes I think I couldn’t possibly love you any more, like my chest is so full it hurts, but then I see you after a long shift or I wake up with you warm in bed with me and I do, somehow.” She trails soft kisses and very gentle bites across Lexa’s throat, the faintest pressure, for two long minutes, feeling Lexa’s heart slow and watching her blink, her eyelashes fluttering. Lexa looks high, dreamy; her fingers twitch weakly against the sheets. 

“I love you,” Clarke says again, because she has to, she never wants to stop saying it. She pulls back, very slightly. “Babe? You still okay?”

Lexa’s mouth slips open, slack. Her throat works but no sound comes out. 

Clarke’s heart skips a beat. “Lex?” She kisses her and Lexa kisses back slow and fumbly but responsive. “Okay?”

Lexa’s eyebrow half furrows before her face smoothes out again. Her eyes are closed longer than they’re open, her pupils blown and hazy, glazed over. “Clarke,” she mumbles. Her hand rises, clumsy, and urges Clarke’s mouth back against her throat.

Clarke suckles, a little harder, and Lexa moans. She slips a strap of Lexa’s tank top aside and nips across the top of Lexa’s shoulder, reverent kisses down her arm before nosing to lick at Lexa’s nipple through the fabric, sucking gently. She breaks after a few minutes to nuzzle across Lexa’s belly, dip her tongue into Lexa’s bellybutton. Lexa makes shivery pleased noises, over and over, and Clarke pulls away after another ten minutes. “Okay?”

Lexa licks at her mouth. She makes a helpless noise, almost frustrated, and Clarke shushes her. She lies them down, their legs tangled tight, and cradles Lexa’s face between her palms. “Baby,” she murmurs, “need you to give me something, here.”

“M’kay,” Lexa says. She sounds drunk, blinking rapidly as she tries to focus. “Please,” she says, pressing close. 

“Okay,” Clarke croons, “I’m just going to get the blanket, okay?”

Clarke starts to sit up to grab the comforter crumpled at their feet and Lexa jolts as soon as she starts to pull away. “No--!” Her breathing rushes, harsh and panicked, and Clarke falls back immediately, pulling Lexa into her chest. 

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Lexa fists her hand in Clarke’s pantleg. “Please.”

“Okay.” Clarke kisses her, firm and gentle at the same time, and Lexa settles after a minute, her trembling easing. “You’re okay. My good girl.”

“Your good girl,” Lexa repeats. Her body goes completely limp, and she sighs, long and satisfied. 

 

Ten minutes later and Lexa stirs. “Clarke?” 

“Hey.” Clarke looks down at her. Lexa kisses Clarke’s chest and Clarke pets her hair, rubbing at her scalp until Lexa sighs, satisfied. “You worried me, a little.”

“Mm,” Lexa says. She yawns. “Sorry. Feels good.” Clarke’s fingers still and Lexa grumbles, tilting her head into Clarke’s hands and rubbing like a cat. 

“So affectionate,” Clarke says, trying to hide her surprise. Lexa hesitates, and Clarke starts scritching behind her ear, dragging her nails. “I like it.”

Lexa eases. “Yeah.” She stretches her whole body, holding her muscles tense before relaxing. “We didn’t even have sex.”

“Next time.” Clarke watches her, scrutinizing. “If you want.”

Lexa pushes Clarke on her back and crawls on top of her. “I do.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. “We’ll talk again before then. Work out a plan. You can color code it, if you want.”

Lexa makes a half-hearted, mumbled defense of her highlighters. Then she slides onto her stomach on the bed and grabs at Clarke’s hands, impatient. “Touch me.”

“Demanding,” Clarke says, but she can’t quite make it a grumble, unbearably pleased to have Lexa loose and naked next to her, eager for Clarke’s hands on her skin, petting, until Lexa falls asleep with her mouth open, drooling and snuffling.

++

“We’re good, right?”

Lexa sighs. “How many times are you going to ask?”

“As many as it takes,” Clarke says. She flicks Lexa in the shoulder. “Don’t get cheeky.”

Lexa arches her back, rolling her entire body against the bed. She’s on her stomach, naked, and Clarke is sitting on her back, straddling, the strap on poking into Lexa’s back. Clarke plants her palms on Lexa’s spine and presses her into the mattress. She levers her weight, and walks her hands up to Lexa’s shoulders. “Clarke,” Lexa hums, shivery. 

“Remember what we talked about?”

Lexa licks her lips. “Yeah.”

“Tell me.” Clarke presses hard at a knot in her shoulder and Lexa arches, helpless. She moans.

“Red,” she manages, “to stop. Yellow to slow--” Clarke kisses the back of her neck and Lexa shudders. “Slow down. Green’s good.”

“And you’ll be honest.” Clarke pauses, her nose in Lexa’s hair, suddenly anxious. “You will, right? Please, Lex.”

Lexa reaches back, reassuring. “Promise,” she breathes. “Love you.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, relieved. “I love you.” She skims her fingers down Lexa’s arms, placing her arms out, palms down. “Keep your hands on the bed.” She slides down the backs of Lexa’s legs, parting them and settling in the space between. “Close your eyes.” She bites into Lexa’s inner thighs, creating a trail of red marks, rapidly bruising as she moves, torturously slow, downwards. By the time she gets to the backs of Lexa’s knees her fingers are twisted into the sheets, clawed. Clarke blows a stream of air across her skin and Lexa trembles. “Color?”

“Green,” Lexa pants, almost immediate. “S’good. So good.”

“Just like you,” Clarke says. Lexa trembles again. Clarke runs her fingers across the map of teethmarks she’s just made. She presses down, testing, and Lexa moans. They’d talked, just before, while Clarke stripped Lexa naked and laid her out on the bed and kissed for ages, Clarke murmuring praise against Lexa’s cheek with Lexa’s legs wrapped around her waist, her mouth slack, aroused as Clarke rumbled filth into the curve of her ear until Lexa’s eyes rolled back into her head. “What are you,” Clarke asks.

Lexa swallows, her throat bobbing, three times, hard. “Yours,” she whispers. She flushes, high on her cheeks. 

“Tell me,” Clarke says, soft and almost pleading. “I’m here, I’ve got you. Tell me.”

“Your good girl,” Lexa says, and shudders, from her head to her toes. Her fingers go limp against the bed. 

Clarke slips inside her, fluttering clenching heat, and she plays with her, just a little, while Lexa murmurs wordless and tilts her hips back, spreads her legs wider. Clarke lays her chest against Lexa’s back and bumps her glistening fingers against Lexa’s mouth. “Ready? Okay?”

Lexa opens her mouth, sucking Clarke’s fingers into her mouth and licking between them, tasting herself. “Yeah. Green, Clarke, please.”

Clarke lines up the toy and eases in, slow and steady. She presses Lexa’s legs together enough to get a knee on either side and sits on the back of Lexa’s thighs, leaning forward to brace herself against the small of Lexa’s back. Her breath catches. She thrusts once, hard. “Lex?”

“Ye-es,” Lexa breathes. Her hips strain against Clarke’s firm weight, trying to push back. “More?”

Clarke thinks. She starts moving, slow and easy and careful. “You want me to go faster?” Lexa face scratches against the sheets as she nods, jerky. “You want me to go harder? Really fuck you?”

Lexa shudders. “Yeah,” she whispers, hoarse and dreamy.

Clarke bends to tug teasingly at Lexa’s earlobe with her teeth. “Too bad,” she murmurs. “I’m going to love you real slow, and you’re going to stay real still while I fuck you, and if you think you’re going to come, you’re going to tell me, so I can stop. You’re not going to come until I say.”

Lexa’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” she says, tiny, her breath caught. Then she exhales, a rumble that turns into a high pitched keen. 

Clarke pauses. “Color?”

Lexa’s eyes are open but they flick up to Clarke almost aimlessly, sliding past her face before coming back, focusing slow. She opens her mouth twice before she can talk. “Green,” she confirms. 

“You want to stop,” Clarke says firmly, “or you decide you need to come, you tell me right away. Promise?”

“Yellow,” Lexa repeats, “to slow down, Red to stop.”

Clarke kisses her, once, and sucks Lexa’s bottom lip between her teeth hard. “Good girl.” She pumps her hips, her palms braced on either side of Lexa’s head on the bed; she can feel Lexa’s breath woosh against her wrist. She goes slow, as slow as she can; she wants to light Lexa’s nerves on fire, wants to make her tingle and beg and _want_. It’s quiet in their room, the door and windows shut against the outside world, the candles flickering soft dappled shadows across the sheets, warm rippling light on their skin. Clarke can hear her own breathing, and Lexa’s, shaky; the tiny moans that drip from Lexa’s mouth before she can swallow them down. 

It’s almost fifteen minutes before Lexa’s body clenches up, just as Clarke feel sweat drip down her spine, her thighs starting to ache. Lexa’s hand claws at the blanket, sudden and panicked. “Clarke--”

Clarke goes still. “Red?”

Lexa shakes her head. “Yellow,” she gasps. “I was… I was gonna come.”

“Good girl,” Clarke says, closing a hand against the back of Lexa’s neck and squeezing gently. “My good girl.” Lexa quivers, then relaxes against the mattress. Clarke spends another minute rubbing at her neck, her shoulders, while Lexa tips her head to the side, submitting. “Okay, baby?”

Lexa nods. “Yeah.”

Clarke starts again, paying attention to Lexa’s breathing, the hairfine tremors down her spine, her fingers twitching against the sheets and how she’s lying so still for Clarke; Clarke fucking her slow and sticky, keeping her body open and relaxed for the toy dragging in and out of her, inch by inch.

“You feel good,” Clarke says quietly. “I know I can’t feel you, inside, not like this. But I can you feel you here--” she touches the arch of Lexa’s spine, where she trembles, “--and here--” she drops her hips against Lexa’s thighs, “--and you feel good. Do you feel good too, baby? Do I make you feel good?”

“Yes,” Lexa rasps, her voice ragged and shredded. Every so often she whines, this high pitched noise from her throat that Clarke isn’t sure she knows she’s making, and when one of them breaks into a long low groan, almost pained, Clarke helps sweep her mess of curls off her neck.

“Do you want to come? You want me to make you come, just like this?”

“Yes,” Lexa gasps, sweat beading along her skin. 

Clarke slips her thumb in Lexa’s mouth, rubbing her tongue. “Ask me.”

Lexa hollows her cheeks, once, before speaking around Clarke’s finger, garbled. “Please.”

Clarke presses down on her tongue, hard, for a count of three. “Ask. Me.”

“Can I come,” Lexa begs, breathless, exhaling all at once and babbling, her teeth cutting into Clarke’s thumb, “please, Clarke, I’ll be good, can I--please, Clarke, please.”

Clarke plants her palms on Lexa’s back and starts a punishing, bruising rhythm, her skin slapping against Lexa’s, her weight thumping Lexa down hard. Lexa yelps, her cheek pressed into the sheets, drool stringing from her mouth; she fists her hands into the blanket and moans, continuously, breaking sometimes into something higher, a keening wail building in her chest. “You can come,” Clarke says, focused on drawing almost all the way out before slamming back inside her. “I want you to. You’re so good, baby, you deserve it. Come for me, good girl--”

Lexa jerks, once, hard, and arches up, every muscle locked. Then she collapses, shuddering violently, and falls into a mess of shivers and sobs, crying out. Clarke slides the toy out, fumbling to get the straps free, and throws it aside. She replaces it with two fingers, completely still, feeling Lexa clench and pulse and flutter, her pulse thunderously strong. Clarke rubs the small of Lexa’s back and moves her fingers in tiny minute movements, easing Lexa through until she settles. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says softly. Clarke slides up her body, licking Lexa off her fingers. 

“Okay?” she asks, anxious despite herself. Lexa pushes into her chest, breathing against Clarke’s neck. She purrs. 

“Good,” she says, sighing. She pulls Clarke’s arm around her waist. 

“You’re clingy like this,” Clarke notes, sliding her fingers through Lexa’s hair. Lexa stiffens slightly and Clarke cuddles her closer. “I like it,” she admits.

Lexa nuzzles at her chest. “I still feel--” she shrugs, inarticulate, and Clarke detaches for a few seconds to grab a blanket and roll Lexa up. She tugs on a sleepshirt and curls up next to Lexa’s swaddled bulk, Lexa watching her with drowsy eyes. Lexa scoots an inch forward and makes a sad, beseeching face, peeking out from the folds of her blanket burrito. Clarke opens her arms and Lexa wiggles into her embrace, beaming. “Love you,” she mumbles.

Clarke kisses her forehead, overcome. “Love you so much.”

++

“Okay,” Clarke says, poking at the pile of blankets her girlfriend is hiding under. “Talk time.”

“Don’t want to,” Lexa says, out of sight, muffled and sulky.

“I made breakfast.” Lexa scoffs. “I did!”

“Liar,” Lexa accuses, her nose sticking out. “I don’t hear the smoke alarm.”

“You’re sassy this morning, and I do not appreciate it.” Clarke waves the cup of coffee in the air, hoping to lure Lexa out with the smell. “Maybe I don’t serve you breakfast in bed like I planned. Maybe I take this granola elsewhere.”

Lexa glares out from beneath her hair, the blanket half dipped over her eyes. “I know somewhere you can put the granola,” she mutters, and reaches for the coffee. She takes a long sip and sighs. “Okay, sorry.”

Clarke sits on the bed next to her and nudges a full spoon against Lexa’s lips. “Usually I’m the bitch in the mornings.”

Lexa avoids her eyes. “Just tired.”

Clarke waggles the spoon. “Let me feed my hot girlfriend.”

Lexa shifts, uncomfortable. “I’m tired.” She’s still curled up under the blanket, and she won’t look at Clarke, hunched into herself. “I don’t feel good,” she says, miserable, and Lexa never says ‘I don’t feel good’ she always says ‘I don’t feel _well_ , just because I’m ill doesn’t mean I can’t speak properly, _Clarke_ , stop laughing’. 

Clarke hesitates. “Can I help?”

Lexa frowns. “I’m fine,” she lies, stiff, then reaches out when Clarke shifts. Clarke hauls Lexa into her lap, blanket bundle and all, and Lexa curls up, unhappy.

“Lexa,” Clarke hums, beseeching. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just feel bad.” Lexa worms out of the blanket so she can press closer to Clarke and Clarke holds her close. “Sick, almost.” She hesitates. “I feel bad,” she repeats, so quiet Clarke can barely make it out. Lexa has always struggled to articulate what she needs, or how she feels.

Clarke leans halfway and then stops. Lexa closes the distance, her kiss cautiously hopeful. “It’s okay. I love you,” she says, and Lexa’s face crumples, it’s so relieved. “I read about this.”

Lexa heaves a sigh. “So did I, but it still feels…” She rolls out of Clarke’s lap and faces away. “I want to be alone.”

Clarke frowns. “Do you really?”

“No. But you’re supposed to go to your mom’s today.”

Clarke grabs her by the hands and pulls her mostly upright. “I already cancelled. Let’s go out, eat something gross and greasy. We can wear sweats and makeout in the car until my boob hits the horn.”

“Your boobs are always in the way,” Lexa agrees, but she sounds pretty happy about it. 

 

Clarke covers Lexa’s upturned coffee cup with her palm when the waitress comes over with the pot. “Water,” she says, ignoring Lexa’s baleful glower. She fumbles in her pocket. “Ta-daa.”

“I don’t believe in vitamins.” Lexa tries to sneak Clarke’s coffee away and Clarke presses the water glass into her hand instead, followed by two clear capsules. 

“B12. Trust your doctor, Lexa.”

 

Clarke orders too much food and Lexa takes the vitamin after another two minutes of Clarke’s nagging, which she thinks Lexa might actually be enjoying, and they eat with their fingers and use too many cheap paper napkins and they do makeout in the car, except Lexa’s busy with Clarke’s boobs so it has to be her elbow that hits the horn and makes them jump, instead. Lexa giggles, cheerful, and Clarke kisses her. 

"Okay, baby?"

"Yeah," Lexa says, and falls asleep while Clarke drives home, her face lax and trusting, tilted towards Clarke.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sort of in the middle of two other prompts COMING SOON TO THE SINBIN NEAR YOU (tumblr @ feeltripping)  
> -lexa safewording for the first time  
> -service top lexa & facesitting  
> -abby walking in on service top lexa going to town on her daughter  
> -semi-public sex  
> -leashes/crawling
> 
> also i feel like this was more feelings than sin oops


End file.
